My broom is parked in the garage

One of my pet peeves on Halloween is the kids who don’t say thank you when you plunk that morsel of yummy goodness into their bags. Now I’m not talking about the little ones who have no idea why they’re walking around in the dark, begging for food. With that group, you can usually hear the stage-whispered, “Say thank you!” prompt emanating from the parent in the shadows. But even if they don’t/won’t say it, I don’t care because they’re so cute.

I’m talking about the kids who are close to aging-out on the whole Halloween thing. The ones who know enough to say thank you, but refuse to do it. Yes, I realize that I sound like a cranky old spinster, but I can’t help it.

One year, we had an influx of trick-or-treaters that left me a bit unprepared (it’s always difficult to predict how many kids might show up). We were starting to run low on candy, so I reduced my usual 2-3 piece handout to one per kid.

A gaggle of kids approached our front door, and I rationed out the chocolatey goodness (no peanut butter “kisses” at this house!). The last kid in the group must’ve been about ten. I dropped a single fun-size Kit Kat into his bag. He looked down into the bag, then looked up, rolled his eyes at me, and gave a disgusted grunt as if to say, “Is that it??”

He turned and fled as I shouted into the darkness, “I can take it back if you don’t want it!”

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